


Supernova

by Writcraft



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bisexual Male Character, Bottom Harry, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Gay Male Character, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-25 20:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19752946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: The bright, Harry-shaped spot in Nick’s heart dimmed, like a dying star. Six weeks and one faded California tan later and Nick’s heart has gone full-blown supernova.Harry's back in London and Nick's about to learn the tabloids have got one particular aspect of Harry's life all wrong.





	Supernova

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wishforwishes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishforwishes/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this story wishforwishes! Thank you for some terrific prompts. Thank you to A for the SPaG check and to the mods for pre-reading. All remaining errors are my own.

It is a truth universally acknowledged by _The Sun_ , _The Daily Mail_ , _The Mirror_ and every teen mag that’s ever speculated about the private lives of popstars, that Harry Styles has a lot of sex. 

Considering the tabloids—better for loo roll than reading—are wrong about so many things, with hindsight perhaps it was unwise of Nick to believe they had their facts straight on the topic of Harry’s sex life. Still, he can hardly be blamed for putting several models, popstars and the former President of the United States together and coming up with the notion that Harry has so much sex even the FBI are starting to take an interest. Harry flirts with Eileen, for crying out loud. He’s all charming, dimpled smile, curls and faux innocence. He makes filthy jokes and responds to rumours with little more than a cheeky grin and all the smug satisfaction of a Gucci-adorned sex god.

Perhaps Nick finds the notion of Harry’s scandalous sexcapades such an easy sell, because he knows if he was blessed with Harry’s good looks, good fortune and oodles of charm, he would be taking full advantage. Nick loved his days slagging around London, bringing one good-looking boy after another home. Models, dancers, the fit twenty-something that gave Nick a saucy wink in the Tesco’s fruit and veg aisle. _Those were the days_ he tells Aimee with a dramatic sigh, over a glass of Pinot blush. Even when he went through his blond phase—first, not second—Nick pulled easily and often. From the moment Harry indicated that straight might not be his preferred label, without really saying much but mumbling enough that Nick got the general gist, Nick assumed he was getting plenty of action from men as well as women. 

That’s why Nick’s first thought when Harry drags him into a grotty loo in an underground club in Hackney isn’t _we should do this somewhere nicer_. When Harry pushes Nick against a wall and starts kissing him, Nick’s first thought is _about fucking time_. His second thought is vague surprise that Skepta makes Harry Styles hornier than Nick’s ever seen him. The thought would make Nick giggle, if Harry’s tongue wasn’t teasing all humour out of the situation and reducing him to a puddle of goo. Nick’s certain that he’s just another notch in Harry’s fancy popstar bedpost and thinks nothing of shoving his hand down Harry’s trousers. He’s so busy trying to find an angle that won’t sprain his wrist, he almost misses it when Harry sucks in a sharp breath, groans and says, _yeah, Nick, fuck yeah. Never…never done this before. Don’t stop._

Nick promptly stops, sobers the fuck up and extracts his hand from Harry’s trousers as delicately as he can manage. He ignores Harry’s protests, waits patiently for him to put his dick away then shepherds Harry out of the loos and into the waiting Uber he managed to book when his hand wasn’t otherwise occupied. Nick’s excellent at multi-tasking.

“Where the fuck are we going?” Harry hisses. His cheeks are flushed, his hair all over the place and he looks as lovely and shaggable as he ever has. Nick’s heart gives a fond kick and he reaches across to give Harry’s hand a quick squeeze.

“My place. No more Apple Sours for you tonight, love.”

“That was you, not me.” Harry huffs and glares at Nick. “I’m not drunk.” 

“I know you’re not,” Nick replies. He does know Harry isn’t drunk. At least not _doesn’t know who he’s getting off with_ kind of drunk. He’s definitely _arms like an octopus_ drunk, but Harry can get like that after half a glass of Lambrusco so that’s not exactly cause for concern. Nick’s the one who’s been twerking and drinking fluorescent green shots like they’re wheatgrass. They’re green. They must be good for him. 

“I know what I want,” Harry says. His fingers sneak their way onto Nick’s thigh, sliding upwards. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you, indeed?” Nick raises his eyebrows at Harry and finds his scepticism rewarded with a shove. “Now, now. No punches, please.” 

Nick circles Harry’s wrist with his fingers and doesn’t miss the way his eyes get dark and wide. It takes him back to the days when Harry wore horrid trainers instead of horrid loafers. The long nights of pressing close to one another, laughing, flirting and breathlessly tumbling into bed together. Nick used to tell himself there was safety in sleeping together without actually _sleeping together_. Very laddy of them. 

It was safe, until it wasn’t. Three months, six months, two years, five. Nick isn’t sure when he fell in love with Harry. Somewhere between the first heady days in Primrose Hill and the Shania Twain leopard print, he imagines. In that place where time moves like slow, lazy summers and passes as quickly as a storm. It’s a wonder Nick’s heart still works at all, after being stitched up at the seams by reckless tumbles with boys whose names Nick can’t remember. No matter how hard he tries, Nick has never been able to fuck thoughts of Harry away completely. Not having sex with Harry has always been more intimate than even the kinkiest sex with strangers. Loving Harry—and pretending not to love Harry—has consumed so much of Nick’s energy over the years, it’s become as natural as breathing. Now it’s settled into something less sharp and precise. A soft, steady ache when Harry’s nearby, which he frequently is these days. 

Harry’s back in London for good, Harry Lambert informed Nick, during a trip to Selfridge’s. The news was almost enough to make Nick panic-buy some Louboutin trainers with studs. Complacency is a dangerous thing and Nick let his guard down. He was on one of those dating apps and everything. His old flat had been sold and new sofas stripped away the memories of watching Bake Off into the early hours of the morning. London buzzed with attractive men that are easy enough to find, once you start looking again. The ones that wear muscle-tees to Pride, the fit boys in the smoking area of Nick’s local, the man with a sketchbook he got to chatting to in First Class on the train to Hull, the blond that wanted to be a singer. The bright, Harry-shaped spot in Nick’s heart dimmed, like a dying star. Six weeks and one faded California tan later and Nick’s heart has gone full-blown supernova. Nick is fucked. Not literally, more’s the pity. Although things do seem to be looking up in that regard. 

“Nick?” Harry’s voice is breathless, and he looks very much as though he’s about to surge across the backseat to close the space between them, Uber driver be damned.

Nick’s thoughts slide away at the rough sound of his name from Harry’s lips. He tightens his grip on Harry’s wrist, his eyes dropping to Harry’s kissable mouth as arousal pulses through him.

“We need to talk,” Nick says when he’s composed enough to speak. His voice has the same, gravelly thickness of Harry’s. Typical, that his voice would betray the parts of Nick’s body that would much prefer a little less conversation a little more action, please. 

“Talking’s stupid.” Harry shakes his hand loose from Nick’s and looks out of the taxi window with a huff. “You’re always talking, you. Thought you might want the night off for a change.”

“You know me, dear.” Nick shrugs and logs onto Twitter, hoping the usual nonsense will calm his rapidly beating heart. “I’ve never met a conversation I didn’t like.” 

All lies, of course. Nick’s never been able to talk to Harry about this. He prefers to keep the tattered bits of his heart hidden and his feelings masked by a wide smile and gentle ribbing.

“Yeah, right,” Harry mutters. Perhaps Nick hasn’t been so subtle after all. The giant tub of Ben & Jerry’s when Harry left for tour was probably a mistake. “Never known you to talk about feelings.”

“That’s because I don’t have any,” Nick lies. “Now shush, I’m trying to concentrate and you’re a horrible distraction.”

Despite his baleful expression, Harry eventually shifts closer to Nick’s side and watches him scroll through his Twitter feed.

His fingers return to Nick’s leg, his body pressing strong and sure against Nick’s side.

The car winds steadily through London traffic and Nick tries not to stare at the curve of Harry’s smile, highlighted by the phone’s fluorescent glow.

*

“You’ve never had sex,” Nick states. He pours them both a water with plenty of ice and resists the urge to add booze.

“No, man.” Harry grins, smug look back again. “Never.”

“Liar.” Nick rolls his eyes. Harry Styles has absolutely had sex. He might not have had as much sex as the tabloids led Nick to believe, but he’s had some. “With a man, though. That’s new?”

Harry looks Nick up and down, finally settling on Nick’s lips. “Not that new,” he murmurs.

“Oh. Right.” Nick clears his throat and adjusts himself in his trousers. He’s not used to having fit popstars looking at him like he’s the best thing on the menu. “How _not new _?”__

__“Ages.” Harry shrugs. “You knew. You must’ve.”_ _

__“Not really.” Nick shakes his head and frowns, because perhaps he did know. He just didn’t want to make it real by admitting as much out loud. “Maybe. Didn’t seem wise to pull at that thread.”_ _

__“Could have been pulling something else if you had,” Harry notes. Nobody should be that cheeky when they’re wearing beige Gucci loafers. With tassels._ _

__“A muscle probably, knowing my luck.” Nick raises an eyebrow at Harry and gestures to the water. “Drink up, Styles.”_ _

__Harry takes several dutiful gulps of water, and it makes Nick’s chest tight. He’s always been good at keeping hydrated, young Harold. Nick really needs a vodka._ _

__“You’ve never been with a man?” Nick tries to keep the surprise out of his voice. He just can’t believe Harry—lovely, funny Harry—hasn’t taken all opportunities presented to him. He always struck Nick as the free love sort, someone who would enjoy a bit of experimentation. “Or tried it with one of those models of yours?”_ _

__“How would I—?” Harry pauses, the penny dropping. He laughs, low and throaty. “ _No_ , Grim. Are you always this fucking nosey?”_ _

__“Always,” Nick replies. He cocks his head to the side, contemplating Harry. “Why now?”_ _

__“Why not?” Harry meets Nick’s gaze steadily. “I trust you. You’d be good at it.”_ _

__Nick nearly chokes on his iced water. “No pressure, then.”_ _

__“No pressure.” Harry takes another mouthful of water and Nick watches as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. It makes Nick want to taste his lips again. Lips, neck. All the other bits on offer. Harry wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and puts his water down. “Don’t you want to?”_ _

__“’Course I do.” Nick snorts, the very idea that he might not want to ludicrous in the extreme. “Just working out the boundaries.”_ _

__“There’s boundaries?” A small smile tugs at Harry’s lips, his cheek dimpled._ _

__“If there aren’t, there should be.”_ _

__“What sort of boundaries?” Harry moves closer to Nick, sliding his fingers under Nick’s shirt. His fingers are bloody freezing. Clutching a glass of iced water while someone investigates your arse-related virginity will do that. “Like no kissing on the lips or summat?”_ _

__“Oi!” Nick catches Harry’s hand and glares at him. “If anyone’s Julia Roberts in this scenario, it’s you.”_ _

__“Means you have to pay me.”_ _

__“I’ll owe you.” Nick rolls his eyes and releases Harry’s hand, letting the wandering continue. If Harry thinks he’s going to unsettle Nick, he has another think coming. “Not even a cheeky finger?”_ _

__“Jesus, Nick.” Harry bursts out laughing and pushes a hand through his hair. His eyes are bright, but there’s a light flush in his cheeks. “Nothing. No toys, no fingers, no strap-ons, no dicks.”_ _

__“ _Why_?” Nick can’t believe there’s not a single person on Harry’s list of exes that would have been keen. Harry’s got a lovely bum._ _

__“I dunno.” Harry looks slightly shifty and Nick narrows his eyes._ _

__“Harold…”_ _

__“Fine.” Harry gives Nick an earnest look. “I wanted it to be you. I’ve wanted it to be you for ages.”_ _

__“You’re such a weirdo,” Nick replies. He hopes it hides the fact he’s so charmed he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “Like joining a nunnery, that.”_ _

__“Not quite.” Harry presses close to Nick, his breath stuttering. “Thing is, I’ve been waiting a _really_ long time. Ages.”_ _

__“Yeah?” Nick’s heart hammers in his chest. _Bad idea, bad idea, terrible fucking idea_. He ignores it, like he always does when it comes to Harry. His life would be a lot poorer if he hadn’t made the kind of decisions that led him to Aimee’s house at three in the morning, moaning on about missing Harry’s face. Besides, it seems like Harry’s capable of making some bad decisions of his own. “You’ve been dead good, haven’t you? Patient.”_ _

__Harry bites back a groan. “Yeah. Really patient.”_ _

__“Hmm.” Nick slides his fingers over Harry’s arms. He’s warm, even with his shirt partially see-through and unbuttoned almost to the navel. A thought occurs to Nick as he tugs Harry closer. “How do you know you’d be into it?”_ _

__“How did you know?” Harry turns his eyes heavenward, as if Nick’s being very obtuse._ _

__“I got a boner over Beckham,” Nick replies, easily._ _

__“Yeah, well.” Harry presses his body close to Nick’s, demonstrating his physical interest with absolutely no subtlety at all. “Same.”_ _

__“I’m not quite Becks, love.” Nick brushes Harry’s hair back from his face and smiles at him._ _

__“You’re better,” Harry replies, fiercely. He nuzzles into Nick’s neck, pushing his hands up under Nick’s shirt. “Porn, too,” Harry says, voice muffled. “That gave me a hint.”_ _

__“How romantic.” Nick groans when Harry sucks at a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. “Want me to take you to bed?”_ _

__Harry’s response is to start making his way upstairs, unbuttoning his shirt as he goes._ _

__Nick follows, heart thudding as he makes his way up the room._ _

__The steps are bathed in neon blue._ _

____

*

Harry has always been comfortable, naked. He used to lounge around in boxers without a second thought and never worried about keeping the towel modestly tied around his waist after a shower. Despite Nick’s insecurities, he doesn’t care much about being naked either. He’s been going to the gym and did that carb free, sugar free diet for a bit, before a hangover and a trip to McDonalds broke his virtuous streak. He likes talking to people, even if he’s on the loo or having a bath. He doesn’t care if people see him naked. Alexa’s still in trouble for putting his bum on Instagram, mind.

It’s been a while since Harry’s been this naked in front of Nick. Somewhere between the early days and the post-Breakfast years, the electric charge between them brought about a prim modesty. Sensible salads at the kitchen table. Harry getting a car home or sleeping in the spare room. Pixie sitting between them, elbowing Nick in the side when she caught him staring. Harry typing out messages to a girlfriend with a small smile on his face, wearing a hoodie and baggy jeans. Harry’s certainly never been this kind of naked before Nick. Hard, flushed and eager. He puts his hand behind his head and stretches, giving his cock a quick stroke. 

“Lovely,” Nick says, because it’s true. He pulls off his clothes and closes the door so the dogs don’t disturb them, his stomach flipping at the sight of Harry’s neatly arranged shoes on the bedroom floor. _Stay_ , he thinks. _Please stay. There’s always been space for you._ Mentally rolling his eyes at himself, Nick settles over Harry and kisses him, their bodies moving in a slow grind like the last pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally slotting into place. 

“Nick—” Harry’s voice catches. His chest is hot beneath Nick’s fingers and his heartbeat quick. “You have no idea, do you? Even after all of this time you don’t get it.”

Nick raises his eyebrows at Harry, letting him talk. He seems particularly earnest, his fingers circling around Nick’s wrist. “I don’t get what?”

“How fucking handsome you are.” Harry takes a shaky breath. He moves his fingers from Nick’s wrist and slides his hand down his belly, holding Nick’s gaze. He gives his cock another slow stroke, bucking up into his own fist with a hiss of pleasure. “How much I want you. How much I’ve always wanted you.”

Nick laughs under his breath. He likes that Harry doesn’t think he’s a troll, obviously, but he’s never been much good at taking compliments about his appearance with any kind of grace. He reaches for the lube, nudging a pillow beneath Harry’s backside. “If you say so, darling.”

“I do.” Harry has the fierce tone he gets when he’s telling Nick something particularly important. He grins at Nick. “And not just because I want to get off.”

“As if,” Nick says. “You’d never be that sneaky.”

“Never.” Harry laughs and watches Nick fiddle with the cap on the lube. “Hurry up, will you?”

“Impatient.” Nick clucks under his breath. “Thought you’d been waiting years for this.”

“I have,” Harry replies. Everything gets unspeakably warm, the seriousness of the words heavy in the quiet space between them. “ _Years_.”

“Me too.” Nick slicks his fingers and rubs them against Harry, capturing his lips in a kiss. He slides a finger slowly into Harry. “Me too,” he repeats.

Harry chases away any further words with a messy kiss, as the embers between them turn to flames.

*

Having sex with Harry is as strange as it is inevitable.

Nick has seen Harry cry. He’s held him close after a sad film and those dark, terrible moments in life when good people are ripped away from you. He’s seen Harry laugh, smoothed his hair back when he vommed after too much booze one night. He’s learned to read Harry’s face as well as he can read his own—useful, when you’re friends with someone as evasive as Harry. He thought he knew how every possible emotion looked on Harry’s face, from red-rimmed eyes, to snotty colds, to sad, moody days when things weren’t going as they should. He thinks he could close his eyes and still recreate a perfect picture of Harry’s moods—good and bad—the bright, eager laughter, wide smiles, dimpled cheek and ruffled hair.

It occurs to Nick that despite knowing how Harry looks in every possible circumstance, he’s never had the privilege of seeing Harry like this. He’s never had much to do with Harry’s girlfriends and he’s never seen Harry well-kissed. He’s never seen him in the flushes of deep, heady arousal. Never seen him come apart at the seams as he loses control, kicking his legs out and arching his back to get more of everything Nick’s giving to him. His skin tastes like sweat and bitter cologne, salty and sharp on Nick’s tongue. His neck is warm, his pulse beating erratically as Nick hooks his arm under Harry’s legs and pushes into him for the first time. He thought they might do it with Harry on his hands and knees, but Harry wanted it like this so he could get his hands in Nick’s hair and fuck around with it. Nick doesn’t care. He wants to see Harry’s face too, as sappy as that probably sounds. He wants Harry to know it’s him. Wants Harry to _need_ it to be him. 

“Okay?” Nick checks in, not for the first time. He’s fully seated, and he wants to move, but Harry might need a minute.

“Weird,” Harry says. He doesn’t sound put out about it, his voice low and rough. “Feels weird.”

“Yeah, does a bit,” Nick agrees. “At the start. Not sore, though?”

“A bit.” Harry breathes out and grips onto Nick. “Full. Good sore, I think.”

“It passes,” Nick says. “Promise. Want to stop?”

“No, fuck no.” Harry shakes his head and clutches Nick tighter. “Just—”

“—Yeah, okay then.” Nick moves, the passage made easier by the ridiculous amount of lube he added after fingering Harry slowly until he was writhing on Nick’s hand and begging for more. He pulls out a little then pushes in deep, rearranging Harry until he knows he’s hitting the right spot from the low moan of pleasure that comes from the back of Harry’s throat.

“So good,” Nick says. He can hardly get his breath, his words leaving him in a rush. He captures Harry’s lips in a searing kiss and fucks him harder, deeper, drinking in every flicker of emotion that crosses Harry’s face. The world tilts, the room heats and the night air fills with everything unspoken. The words that almost spilled out after one boozy night too many, the way Nick’s _I’m so in love with you_ would catch in his throat during another lazy morning, when Harry woke up in his bed. His heart swells, his body aching with something that pulses and twists beyond desire, beyond the need to come. 

He takes Harry until they’re both so close to the edge. He grunts out Harry’s name into another messy, passion-drunk kiss and his climax rips from him in a burst of white-hot pleasure. 

Harry’s hand jerks himself to completion after Nick pulls out slowly, tying off the condom. When Harry is sticky and sated and Nick’s lips are raw from kissing, he settles back against the pillows and watches Harry. 

“Stars are out,” Harry says. He’s sleepy and breathless post-climax, his voice even slower than usual. He tips his head to the side and points to Nick’s bedroom window. “They’re never out in London.”

“They must have heard you were back,” Nick teases. 

It makes Harry’s brow furrow. “Don’t take the piss.”

“As if I would.” Nick gives Harry a quick kiss and props himself up on his elbow, following Harry’s gaze out into the night. “Dead romantic, this. Bet they don’t do much stargazing in those pornos of yours.”

“Not a lot.” Harry grins, focusing on Nick again. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

“Like what?” Nick traces the butterflies on Harry’s chest, pressing his fingertips against Harry’s pulse. 

“Exposed.” Harry sighs, his chest rising and falling as his eyes shutter closed. “Could go again in a bit,” he mumbles.

“Bad exposed?” Nick can’t help worrying, and he wants Harry to feel good. He wants them to look at the stars again. Make a wish on one, before realising it’s a plane. It’s the kind of thing that would make Harry laugh. 

“Nah.” Harry opens his eyes again and he gives Nick a slow smile. “Was good, wasn’t it?”

“The best,” Nick says, his words catching in his throat. He presses a kiss to Harry’s chest, listens to the steady beat of his heart.

 _The best_.

*

It’s four in the morning, and Nick can’t sleep. He goes to bother the dogs and makes himself some toast and a cup of tea.

“What time is it?” Harry comes downstairs in his boxers, yawning.

“Too early.” Nick points at the clock. “I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“Really?” Harry can sleep basically anywhere. The idea of not being able to get back to sleep is clearly alien to him. “Must have been those shots. I said they’d do weird shit to your brain, Grim.”

“Maybe.” Nick laughs under his breath and gets a mug out of the cupboard. It’s one with the 1D boys on, smiling at the camera. He likes teasing Harry with it. “Tea?”

“Yeah.” Harry moves behind Nick and wraps his arms around his waist, nuzzling his neck. Nick almost drops his favourite mug from the shock of it all. Sex was something they had been building up to, after all. Cuddling after sex is different. “You smell nice,” Harry mumbles, sleepily. “You always smell good.”

“Not after the gym.” Nick makes the tea and puts it to one side, turning in Harry’s arms. “Everything okay, popstar?”

“Mmm.” Harry’s head is in the crook of Nick’s neck again like it’s his favourite place to be. “Good. Can we go for breakfast?”

“Not at four in the morning, love.” Nick’s voice catches in his throat, his hand stilling in Harry’s hair. “There’ll only be McDonald’s and one of them kebab places open.”

“In the morning,” Harry says. “Proper morning.”

“If you like.” Nick moves his hand through Harry’s hair again. “Have to avoid the paps though,” he says, lightly.

“Fuck ‘em.” Harry looks up at Nick, blinking. “I don’t care. Do you?”

Nick swallows and shakes his head. “Nope. I love being the centre of attention.”

“Liar.” Harry’s lips curve into a smile. “See, I thought we might do it again. The sex. There’s other stuff I haven’t tried, yet.”

“Oh?” Nick’s heart stutters in his chest. “Like, regular shagging?”

“Yeah.” Harry’s voice is low and serious. “And the rest.”

“Oh.” Nick clears his throat. “Dunno that I’m good at the rest.”

“Me neither.” Harry puts his hands on either side of Nick and places a damp kiss on the crook of his neck, mouthing along the line of his jaw until he reaches his lips. “Might be better, with you.”

“Might be.” Harry’s breath is warm and sleepy against Nick’s lips and he puts his hand on the back of Harry’s neck to pull him close for a slow kiss. It’s the kind of kiss that isn’t in a rush to get anywhere. Arousal is there, but it’s not urgent. It doesn’t make Nick want to turn Harry around and fuck him against the kitchen counter. It’s lazier, a pleasant tug that fills out the hollow ache that Harry’s absence always left behind. “You’re not done yet,” Nick says at last, when he breaks the kiss. “With music.”

“No.” Harry shakes his head, pushing his hair back from his eyes with a swipe of his hand. “But I’m not done with you, either.”

“Glad to hear it.” Nick thumbs at the waistband of Harry’s boxers, looking down. He’s not sure looking at Harry’s half-hard dick is less distracting than looking at his eyes, so he focuses on the butterflies instead. “I’m the sort that likes stopping in and watching Love Island, going for walks with the dogs in the country. Maybe a few nice holidays in the sun.”

“I like holidays in the sun,” Harry says. “Mallorca was good.”

Mallorca was hell, because Harry looked good enough to eat and Nick was reminded all over again how much it hurts to want something you can’t have.

He doesn’t say that. Instead he says, “Mallorca was a lifetime ago.”

“Not quite.” Harry pulls away from Nick and picks up his tea. He looks at the mug and pulls a face. “ _That_ was a lifetime ago.”

“Still feels like yesterday, though.” Nick ruffles Harry’s hair and leans back on the counter. “Buying bananas in Primrose Hill, getting papped going to Tesco’s for Pot Noodles and a bag of Quavers. Not sure you’d want to borrow my clothes these days. You’ve gone all high fashion.”

“I still would.” Harry glances at the dogs snoring in their basket, his expression warm and fond. “You could borrow my loafers.”

“I’m good, thanks.” Nick laughs. “Is this real?” 

Harry takes a breath and faces Nick, his gaze never wavering. “It’s the realest thing I’ve ever known.”

“Well.” Nick tries not to sound too choked up but isn’t sure he’s successful. “Better go back to bed, then. Seal the deal.”

“Grim—” Harry stops Nick as he washes their mugs. “I waited for you. Might seem like you’ve been waiting around all this time, but…but I was waiting too.”

“I know, love.” Nick brushes his thumb to Harry’s cheek. “I’d still have done it. In a heartbeat. You didn’t have to prove anything.”

“I know.” Harry shrugs and looks away. “Maybe I needed to prove something to myself. In case I go away again, for a bit.”

Nick’s heart clenches at the thought of Harry leaving, but it doesn’t seem so hopeless anymore. It’s as inevitable as taking Harry to bed again. There will be other tours, other houses in America, other countries Harry needs to go and see. Nick thinks he gets this oddly Victorian insistence of Harry’s that Nick be his first. All this time Harry was putting a long-distance semi-monogamous love affair into practice and Nick didn’t even realise he was in one. Or maybe he’s always been in it. 

“We’ll work it out,” Nick says at last. “Monogamy isn’t for everyone and if you still want to see girls—”

“—No,” Harry replies, fiercely. “That’s not what I want.” 

“Then what?” Nick can’t seem to stop touching Harry. The curve of his bicep, the fading tan on his chest, the tattoos. 

_Mine_ , he thinks. _I want you to be mine_. Part of him wants to take Harry back to bed and say every last, possessive, territorial thing that clutches at his jealous heart. Yet he can’t help but feel there’s something so fragile and delicate about the moment. Moonlight, through the window, fading as the sun rises. Blinking stars covered by cloud. _Gone_. Nick doesn’t want Harry gone, at least not in the way he used to be. He wants Skype calls, late-night text conversations, reassurance and the promise of seeing one another in a matter of weeks. Nick can be fiercely independent, but he wants all the things they used to have. The lazy summer afternoons making roast dinner, walks with the dogs, eating ice-creams on the common, watching the telly or one of those films that make Harry snotty and weird looking. The ones when Nick holds Harry close and never wants to let go.

“I’m not like the papers say.” Harry holds Nick’s gaze. “I never have been. You know that, better than anyone.”

“Yeah,” Nick agrees. He swallows back his doubts, strokes his fingers along Harry’s arms and studies the ink on his chest. _I should be over all the butterflies_. He takes a breath, because it’s time to be brave, whatever the consequences. It’s what his heart deserves. It’s what they both deserve. “I want something proper. I don’t want to have to pretend anymore.”

“Me too,” Harry says. His voice is slow and soothing, his lips warm as they press against Nick’s cool jaw. “Wanted it to be real for so long.”

Nick’s suddenly desperate to be back in bed where they can cocoon themselves away for a while longer before facing the paps with their flashing lights and intrusive questions. He doesn’t want to pretend, but he’s not quite ready for the world outside. It can be cold, hard and the tabloids say the shittiest things. He wants to stay inside, for a bit. Build up the fragile bonds between them into something strong enough to withstand everything in front of them, finish off the foundations they’ve been putting in place for years. He also wants to fuck Harry again. Over, and over. He wants to try the things they haven’t tried and do the things they have, all over again. 

“Sun’s coming up,” Harry murmurs.

“Mm.” Nick kisses Harry, takes him by the hand and leads him back upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind them.

In the hall outside cool blue neon mingles with the warmth of another London sunrise.


End file.
